


Autumn of Our Years

by effrontery



Category: General Hospital
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effrontery/pseuds/effrontery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Georgie’s wedding, it’s time for Maxie and Spinelli to finally face their past.<br/>(Feedback most welcome!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn of Our Years

Dramatic gateside reunions only existed in vintage Hollywood movies. If anything, now it was a quick hug at the bottom of an escalator and a dash to grab baggage and head to the car.  He sighed inaudibly (he’d definitely been born in the wrong decade, if not century), then hopped on the airport walkway and followed the signs for baggage claim. Not that he needed them—he’d made this trip so many times now, he could do it in his sleep. 

Well, not so many times recently. At first when he’d made the move from Port Charles to Portland, he and Ellie visited several times a year.  They’d bring Georgie to see her mother and grandparents, and  spend time with Jason and Robin and other friends. But once Georgie had hit middle school, she’d started making those trips on her own.  “No need to spend all that money for three plane tickets,” Maxie had said, and part of him concurred. But sometimes he’d wondered, and did still, if it was just easier for all concerned to avoid the tension that always seemed to crackle between himself and Maxie when they were in the same room.

Or was he imagining that?

For the first time in a long time, he thought back to those passionate kisses he and Maxie had shared when he’d come home those many years ago and tried to make her realize the three of them could be a family.  They’d tried, briefly, but ultimately, they’d both chosen otherwise, and by all appearances, they weren’t wrong choices. He and Ellie had had a good life together for 20-odd years, and Maxie and Nathan had been happy for a while, at least long enough for him to stepfather Georgie through high school.  Nathan wasn’t a bad guy, and from what he understood, their divorce had been amicable enough (“He just got tired of me spending so much time in New York,”  Maxie said shortly in a tone that invited no further conversation on the topic when he’d called, after hearing the news, to ask if she was okay) and now he seemed happily remarried to a nurse from the hospital who also loved Georgie and had encouraged her when she decided to go to nursing school.  They’d all made the best of it, he thought, and the result was a beautiful, whip-smart, caring young woman who’d found the love of her life.

If he pressed on the bruise though, and he admitted to himself very rarely that sometimes he still needed to, he couldn’t help asking what might have been.  What would have happened if he and Maxie had stayed together.

He knew that Maxie needed the experiences she’d had away from him, and so had he. He’d needed to love someone who saw him as an equal, who’d encouraged his dreams, who’d helped him, after Georgie was in middle school, become the owner of a wildly successful tech company that traded on the NASDAQ for $120 a share. And would Maxie ever have had her dream of a fashion magazine editor if she’d been the full-time mother of a small child? He also knew he wouldn’t trade those days with Ellie and Georgie exploring Portland, learning the city, creating memories.  The fact that Georgie had gone off to college and they’d woken up one day and realized they were too much alike, and that paradoxically they’d drifted far apart, too far apart, didn’t change that. No regrets, just gratitude for years well-spent.

No, the true question was now, with those life experiences, what it would mean to be in the same room for more than a few hours with Maxie—to see what would manifest from their particular alchemy of past and present.  The great unknown, and it was getting ready to happen in (he checked his Shinola) T-30 minutes.

Another deep breath.  Buckle up, Spinelli, he told himself. Get ready for the ride.

II

“Mom?  Are you ready?  We’re going to be late getting dad at the airport!” 

Maxie Hunter West Jones shook her head and then looked at her phone. Once again, her daughter was right—they were definitely late.  “Sorry, Georgie,”  she said, looking up again into her daughter’s stormy blue eyes. “I got a little distracted…”

“Mom.”  Her daughter gripped her arms and looked back into her mother’s eyes. “This is me. I know you’re nervous. But it’s going to be okay.  Though significantly LESS okay if we leave dad stranded at the airport. So let’s go.”

Maxie suppressed a half-smile. She saw as much of Damien Spinelli in her daughter as she saw of herself. Georgie was the best of both of them, and more besides—and yet with her own quirks and her own opinions (and she had plenty of those.)  Had her own temper, too, but then again, maybe that was just the apple not falling far from her mother’s tree.  And somehow, Georgie had managed to avoid all her bad relationship choices, or most of them, and now here they were, her daughter so grown up at 25, ready to get married.  And her divorced mother dragging her feet because she was afraid to spend this chunk of time with her daughter’s father, after all these years…

“MOM!”

Sigh. “OK, Georgie.”  She said.  “You’re right, and I’m sorry. Let’s go.”  This time, she flashed a smile. “Want to drive?”

 

III

He shook his head.  All his angst and build-up—and she wasn’t here. Slinging his garment bag over his shoulder, he canvassed the small area looking for her, or his daughter, or even someone random bearing a sign with his name. No one. Checked the curb just in case, but no familiar faces.

Quick scan of the phone.  No text message, no new voicemails.  He shrugged. Maybe he should just take a cab to the hotel and they’d meet up later.  He’d learned in regard to Maxie that there was no use getting fussed.

Just as he was ready to stand in the queue, his phone buzzed.  A text.  Georgie. “Dad, we’re almost there.  Sorry!” Okay, Spinelli.  Grab a chair and take a load off.  But he realized he couldn’t sit—so he paced. Might as well stay outside and wait for them to pull up. Then they wouldn’t have to park. And might as well text Georgie that.  “Meet you on the curb outside baggage claim.  Can’t wait to see you.”   Pace, pace, pace.

He clocked the BMW on some level before he even recognized them. Black, sleek, one of the 7 series—he loved his own toys, and knew Maxie liked shiny objects, but he had to admit the car was a bit more…full throttle…than he’d expect from his former not-wife.  But then that thought slipped away, because his daughter had jumped from the car, and was chattering excitedly, hugging him, asking him about his flight, grabbing his bags to help him put them in the trunk.  He smiled with joy at seeing her, and marveled, as always, how much she’d grown from the pink-hatted baby he’d held in his arms so many years ago.

Maxie?  She was sitting low on the passenger’s side, wearing dark sunglasses and acknowledging him with a small wave. Impossible to see her eyes or know what she was thinking.  “So we’ll table that, Spinelli.” he thought to himself.  “Besides, this trip isn’t about us, it’s about Georgie.”   And with that, he turned to her and gave her another huge hug.  “Tell me all the plans for this wedding, fair daughter,” he said with a smile. “Your father wants to hear it all.”

 

IV

Twenty years—and still, a gut punch.  She inhaled silently but sharply as they rounded the corner and saw him standing there in his blue pinstripe suit with its slightly askew tie. (He’d come straight from a meeting with investors, she’d remembered Georgie saying.) Lean, more taut and muscular, but with just the tiniest stoop and a little less, but still mussed, hair.  Geeky as always, but handsome in his own way.  More confident.  And disarming. And not, she reminded herself firmly, hers, not anymore, not for a long time.  So get over any nostalgia, Maxie Jones, because it’s not going to help either of you.  Besides, this week is all about Georgie. 

Steeling herself, she smiled determinedly, and turned towards the back seat to say hello as the car door opened.

 

V

Fortunately, any potentially awkward silences were filled with Georgie’s enthusiastic conversation, and after 10 minutes of laughing and talking, he looked up and realized that the route they were taking wasn’t anywhere near the hotel.  “Are we stopping somewhere before I drop my bags off?” he grinned.  “Dinner at the Floating Rib?” 

“Well, mom and I figured we’d get you settled at the house before we grab Will and go meet everybody, is that OK?” Georgie’s face puckered slightly with worry.  “You must be tired and hungry, and we’ll get you fed right away, but don’t you want to unpack and relax for a minute first?”

He tried to keep his face neutral, but he knew Maxie must have registered his flash of surprise.  “Didn’t I mention I had a reservation at the Metro Court? “ he queried. “I figured the house would be crazy this week—didn’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t be!”  Georgie insisted. “There’s plenty of room at the house, and it’s kind of wedding central—and since you’re a big part of the festivities, of course you need to stay there.  That’ll be easier, don’t you think?”

He laughed inside. Easier. Right. But of course, Georgie wouldn’t know what had happened that last time he‘d been in her mother’s space--that fateful period when he’d clumsily and stupidly tried to muscle himself back into her heart and her home (and, if he were honest, her bed).  She’d rejected him at first, and rightly so—tried to send him packing to Sam’s and insisted there was no room at her inn. And it had only gone south from there. And now, here they were again, thanks to his daughter.  But remember, he told himself, what that means. And what it doesn’t.

He looked in the mirror to try, again, to read Maxie’s eyes, but they were inscrutable behind those designer sunglasses.  But he knew her, and he wasn’t letting this go without some acknowledgement.   “Sure you’ve got the space, Maxie?”  he said, trying to keep his voice light.  Then he quickly read the volumes in her small smile.  “I’m sorry.”  “It’ll be OK.” “We can do this for her, right?”  “Olive branch.”

But she simply said, “Of course.  It’ll be great.”

He hoped it would be.

VI

The guest room was sleek and elegant and contemporary. It was obvious to him that Maxie had decorated this space--this whole house, really. He hadn’t visited Port Charles much since she and Nathan had bought the place, though he’d heard about it from Georgie. He wondered if she planned on keeping it now that Georgie would probably be here staying so much less. Maybe she would, to have lots of visiting space for potential future grandkids.

Grandkids. He narrowed his eyes, looking the in the dresser mirror.  How was it even possible that he was contemplating those?  It seemed like yesterday that he was a gangly, awkward boy, falling in love with the most confusing, magnetic woman he’d ever laid eyes on, doing everything in his power to make her notice him.  He’d come a long way from there, such a long way.  He’d learned, painfully, that sometimes you have to be stronger, to believe in your worth, to find fortitude in yourself instead of chasing it elusively from someone who wasn’t able to give it. Those had been hard, long lessons to learn, but the peace he’d gotten from that realization, finally, wasn’t something he’d ever trade again. 

That was how he knew, he thought, as he hung his tuxedo and opened his Dopp kit onto the bathroom counter, that he’d be good no matter what happened.  No matter how flooded with memories of her, or her touch, or their time together that he got during this week.

 

VII

She sat at her makeup table, lost in thought.  It was just a moment, she thought. A brief second. They’d gotten out of the car, and Georgie ran ahead with his suitcase to see if Will had made it in yet.  They’d exited the car awkwardly, at the same time. It felt like there needed to be some acknowledgement.  Not a handshake, way too formal.  A hug?  A little challenging, maybe. But yes. So they leaned in, garment bag colliding with purse.  Nowhere to put their hands. They settled for an quick, open armed embrace.

But even then.  It had been over 20 years since she’d felt his body against hers, even briefly, and in that moment, she smelled the scent of him—pine and something sharp and ginger-y mixed with clean laundry, felt the press of his sun-warmed shoulder.  She breathed in, just for a second, and then remembered to let go. “Damien.”  she murmured briefly against him, and then stepped back.

“It’s good to see you, Maxie.”  She noted the use of her given name, and thought he seemed surprised she’d used his. “Hard to believe…this. Isn’t it?”   Reaching up to unknot his tie, he turned and started walking up the driveway, but not until she found herself searching his face for a reaction, trying to see if she still affected him the way she always had. Old habits died hard, and while she didn’t need those admiring eyes anymore, it had been hard to let that go for a while.  Picking up her brush from the table, she thought about the fights she and Nathan had had about it.  “You want me to be Spinelli” he accused her once, folding his arms and glaring at her.  “I love you, but I’m not giving up who I am for you, my self for you, like he did.  You’re my wife, Maxie, you’re not the sun.  The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

She knew, now, that what he’d said then was the truth, and she was even grateful that the divorce, finally, had made her realize she wasn’t nearly as special as she’d wanted the long string of men in her life to believe. She had so many regrets, so many times she’d wanted to reach out to Spinelli over the years, to tell him how sorry she was for not being able to see him as her equal then. That she’d been so “mercurial” (his word) and hadn’t been able to care for him the way he really deserved, to respect him and the way he loved her.  She wished she’d been proud to be his partner, not done the dance of reeling him in then pushing him away, or flirting with or sleeping with completely inappropriate men when she couldn’t handle her emotions for him, or his for her. But then she’d remember the determined look in his eyes when he’d told Ellie she was the one for him, and she thought that the time for those conversations had passed. And she hoped his happiness had made up for any pain she’d caused him.

And if he had any thoughts or regrets of his own, she saw none of them on his face before he shifted away and turned and headed up the driveway.  He’d put them behind him, she thought. One of the things she’d always admired about him was his steadfast resolve and ability to face forward when he’d made up his mind.  No point in revisiting it, especially this week.  He’d gone inside and was getting settled, and they’d all head to dinner shortly.

But sitting at that table, the feeling of his hug lingered.

VIII

“No more Maximista?”

“Sorry?”   Home from a long, loud dinner at the Rib, with all their friends and family surrounding them, Georgie and Will had headed upstairs to finish some last minute details for tomorrow and crash, and after saying his goodnights, he’d headed out to the patio to grab a little air.  He sat quietly, thinking, catching the familiar scent of lilies of the valley, and didn’t hear her slip out behind him, until she spoke.  He swung around, surprised at the tone in her voice. Wistful, longing. Just slightly unguarded.  Too many glasses of wine, he thought. And look where that got us last time—standing here 25 years later, with the product of that evening fast asleep in her bedroom on the eve of her wedding.  Careful, Spinelli.

“Maximista.  You didn’t call me that when we hugged hello today.”   The moon shone off every curve of her beautiful body in her form-fitting black silk dress.  This close, he could smell her faint perfume, citrus-y and soft. Soft like her hair that she’d let grow longer.  He remembered how he would tangle his hands in it as they made love, breathing her in, feeling her legs wrapped around him as he...

No.

“That nickname for you is a little too endearing for two people who’ve been separated for 25 years, don’t you think?”  he asked, hoping against hope that his voice hadn’t caught. He thought he’d succeeded when he saw the quick hint of sadness in her eyes before her fire came shining through.  So stubborn, he smiled inwardly.  Some things don’t change.

“It’s my NAME, Da—Spinelli.  Just like yours.”  Petulant, a little demanding.  Possessive…

“You called me Damien when you first saw me.   And almost did just now.  So don’t even try that with me.”  He teased lightly.  She seemed a little surprised at his pushback, but only just.  “It’s been a long time, and it’s not the same river.  Not even close.”

Smiled again.  Deflect.  Subject change. “You know, tonight, watching them, I thought, we did good, despite ourselves, didn’t we?  She’s amazing. Will’s a great man, honorable. Happy for them both.”

He saw her considering whether to keep up her argument, and then her face yielded, softened.  “Me too.  So glad we could get something right.”

“We got a lot of things right, Maxie.”   He held her eyes for just a beat longer than necessary, then brushed his way past her towards the sliding glass doors.  “We should probably head towards slumber.  Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

 

VIIII

Breakfast. He stumbled downstairs in his pajamas pants and Ducks t-shirt, stretching and thinking about coffee.  He’d thought about showering first, but then he wasn’t totally sure of the agenda for the day, and caffeine, after last night’s patio interaction, seemed a prerequisite.  If it was early enough, maybe he could even grab his cup and head back to his room before having to face her again.  He’d slept hard last night, the opposite of how he thought he would. No tossing and turning for him.

She was standing at the kitchen island, bent forward reading something on her tablet, hair tousled around her shoulders, wearing a pair of red silk pajamas, barefoot.  Beautiful.  Seeing her like that, he flooded with thoughts of the feel of her body, the comfortable way they’d had together, then how much they had pleasured each other, how it surprised him, how simple it had been to bring her to the edge again and again, when at first he’d imagined he wouldn’t be able. Really, he’d learned, it was about paying attention, and he’d been doing that with her from almost the moment he met her. So maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. 

She turned. “Want a bagel?” she asked.  “It’s kind of fend for yourself today, since we’ve got so many last minute things to do, but we figured we’d do easy breakfast.” 

“Sure, if it’s no trouble.”   He headed for the cupboard without thinking twice, to grab a coffee cup. She moved towards the fridge, colliding and apologizing, then touched him gently at the waist to steer him to the left of the sink. “Up there,” she said, and his skin heated underneath his t-shirt. 

“Everybody else still reposing?”  he queried, pulling a ceramic mug down from the top shelf and raising  the coffee pot.  “Sugar’s on the bottom right, still take two?”  she replied, grabbing bagels and butter.  Her shirt rode up and he saw the smallest flash of the naked curve of her back, and he flushed.  “Nah, gave it up.  Along with orange soda.”  She pivoted, raising her eyebrows quizzically.  “Seriously?”   “Yes, Portland’s full of anti-sugar and no-caffeine drinkers, and besides, Ellie became an ovo-lacto pescatarian, and gave up gluten, and…”  he laughed.  “It was just easier.”

Ellie. He hadn’t meant to talk about her with Maxie (after all, she’d be here soon enough, for the wedding) but now he’d opened that door.  He saw her breathe in, start to ask, then…

“Morning!”  Georgie came bursting in the room, full of life like she always was, ready to start the day, caffeine or no caffeine.  “How’d you two sleep?” 

An innocent question, so why did he feel eighteen all of a sudden?   He looked away to gain composure for a minute, swallowing.  “Great.  That guest bed is quite comfortable.”  Subtle, but reinforcing.

“Me too, slept like a rock.”  Maxie smiled, putting her arms out to hug her daughter tightly. Any trace of awkwardness that she’d had with him was gone as she pulled her daughter close.  He looked at them next to each other, both so blond and fair and vibrant, and he felt his heart swell, and then shatter just a little.

“I always sleep great here—nothing like being in my teenage bedroom.” Georgie grinned and reached around her mother for a cup for herself, then filled it quickly.  “Mom, do you have a game plan for today?  I was going to make one myself, but I figured you’ve probably already got it locked down and us scheduled within an inch of our lives, so I’ll just give in.”   She smiled at her father as she lifted the mug to her lips.

He reacted, surprised.  “Your mother, a game plan?”  he questioned, then realized his error when he saw that tiny spark of temper from Maxie again.  Retreat, retreat.  “I mean, of all your copious wedding planning experience, and your exceedingly lovely qualities, one would not say that organization was necessarily among them, no?”  Dammit.  Shut up, Spinelli.  He looked at Georgie to try and save him, and saw her stifling a laugh, and then back to Maxie, who now looked ready to spit fire.  “I’ll have you know,” she said “that I’ve grown a lot in 20 years.  I couldn’t do the job that I do without being EXTREMELY organized and thorough.  And that’s why this wedding is going to be a complete success.”  She pulled her daughter in again for a quick kiss, and then threw him a look over her shoulder that, if he hadn’t known better, reminded him of their banter of old.  “I’ll send you both the schedule on a Google Doc as soon as I finish toasting your bagel.  Be ready to be on the road by 9:30, OK?”

“Aye, aye, captain.” he said, smiling as he pulled out a stool to sit and finish his coffee.  

 

X

“I took a look at the list.  Which part is mine?”   He’d thumbed through the doc on his iPhone, then dressed, showered, and presented himself for duty in under an hour. If Georgie needed help knocking things off this agenda, he was going to help as much as possible.

“Let’s see.”  Maxie was curled on a living room chair, feet tucked under her, studying her tablet again.  Her fingers moved quickly over the screen, and he noticed the absence of rings on her hands, and then looked at his own, bare.  Focus, Spinelli.  “OK. We’ve got to drop the check off at the photographer and make sure he’s got a list of all the shots Georgie and Will want, grab the place cards from the printer and make sure we’ve got the seating arrangement chart complete, stop at the liquor store and load up the wine and bottles, grab my dress from the dry cleaner…oh, and Georgie and I were going to go get a mani-pedi later on this afternoon…”

He was drifting, remembering standing across from her at the altar, taking her hand and telling her how he loved her.  He remembered the earnestness in his heart, how he’d known she wasn’t ready, and how he’d done the most loving thing he knew how—let her go, because it was what she needed.  Back and forth, passionately in love and then on the outside looking in as she tortured him by moving on to someone else.  Always coming back to him to pick up the pieces, until he drew his line in the sand.

And now?  He wondered who she was now, and what she needed.  Not, he thought wryly, that that was really his concern anymore.

“Damien?”  He shook himself back to the present, looking up to see her slightly bemused expression.  “Were you catching any of that?”

“Yes!” he said emphatically.  “Photographer, dry cleaner, liquor store.  I’m in. Except…”  He reached in his pocket, pulled out his house keys and dangled them.  “No car here.  Surely you’re not going to let me drive the BMW, are you?”

“Sure, why not?”  She laughed.  “But I think you need someone riding shotgun. Are you game?”

Spending the day with her, planning for a wedding that wasn’t theirs. Was he game?  He flashed briefly back to that altar moment, then shored himself up with a grin.  “Absolutely.”

XI

“Play nice, you two.  Meet you at the nail place, Mom.  Love you guys.”  Georgie sent them both off with big hugs, and then, there they were. In the car, alone, together, just like the old days. Like that first time, during the stakeout, when they had nothing to do but sit and wait, and talk.  And share that first unexpected kiss…

“Photographer first?”  He downshifted smoothly, then quirked his eyebrow at her. “Sure,” she said. “He’s expecting me to drop by.  Near the corner of Main and Ash, not too far from Kelly’s.” 

XII

They were almost through the list.

 “So…” she said, a little too casually.  “When’s Ellie coming?”

“Friday.” Here we go, he thought. “I know she’ll miss the rehearsal dinner, but she just felt like it would be better to just be here the day of.  She just wants it to be good for Georgie.”

“Me too” she said quietly, then touched him on the shoulder.  “I’m sorry about the divorce.”

That touch.  When she put her hands on him, anywhere, even the most casual contact, that familiar desire twinged through him, undampened by time.  When they’d been good, they’d been so tactile with each other, couldn’t get enough of kissing, and touching, and making love—and these feelings, exactly, and the pain of missing her, were why he’d stayed away.  But then the rational part of him kicked in, the one he’d been honing to a sharp point all these years, and he paused, took a breath, let the feeling subside.  “Thank you.”  he said.  “I’m grateful for what we had.  And it’s not awful now.  She and I are both too logical for that.” 

She laughed.  “True enough.  I’d like to say it was like that for Nathan and me, but it’s not exactly like rationality is my strongest trait.”   She paused, smiling.  “But I’m learning.”

He felt her gaze on him before she asked.  “Do you feel like you’re different now, Spinelli?  All these years later?  Or just…older?”

He laughed. “Well, that, for sure. But yeah, I’m different. I think…I’ve grown up a lot, for a lot of reasons.  Learned a lot about self-care. And what a great guy I am.”  He voice was deliberately casual.  “Taken the hammer to some of those pedestals I was so good at putting people up on.”  Keep it light, Spinelli. “How about you?”

She paused before answering. She realized she’d been trying since he’d gotten here, despite her promises to herself not to, to read his feelings for her.  Again with the nostalgia, Maxie---it’s going to get you in trouble, she thought.  She’d isolated herself from this man for 20 years, to let him heal, and suture her own hurt. In the meantime, she’d tried to make a life for herself and go the distance with someone, give up her fickle ways. And that last relationship was the one, ironically, that had grown her up, though it hadn’t lasted.  Made her, if she acknowledged the truth to herself, ready. For him.

Maybe it was inevitable she’d feel this, on the eve of her daughter’s wedding, with her daughter’s father.  “ How I love you.”  Those words had echoed in her mind for so long, the tender way he’d taken her hand at their wedding day.  And she’d taken that love and treated it with casual sabotage.  How could he ever forgive that?

Maybe you never stop loving your first true love, she thought.  The one who starts changes you and helps make you into the person you become. Or maybe, fate tears you apart for a while to let you learn your lessons, and then converges, always bringing you back, someday, to where you belong.

“If I’ve learned anything,” she said, “it’s how not to be so self-destructive and selfish. For so long, I had this…need. To be stroked, admired, loved.  It consumed me.  I blew up the good things in my life, didn’t see people unless they were players in my drama, maybe because I was so insecure and self-centered. And I didn’t know how to be happy.  I didn’t know how to put myself in someone else’s shoes.  And I think,” she hesitated, “I’ve learned that. Not the easy way. But I have.” Pause again.  “I’ve wanted to really thank you, Spinelli. For being loyal to me for so long, and steadfast, and honest…all those things I wasn’t.  Thanks for loving me then, and helping me learn that in the end, I needed to stop lying, stop manipulating, and put the people I love first.  I just wish I hadn’t taken this long to figure it out…and lost so much in the process.  And I’m sorry.  For the way I treated you, and for not realizing how lucky I was, and what I had.”

She went on.  “I’ve been divorced five years now, and I don’t think there’s been a day I haven’t thought about you. But I didn’t pick up the phone, because I’d never put you through again what I did all those years—and I wanted to break my old patterns. And I wasn’t going to talk to you about it this week. But seeing you just brings it all up again, and I know I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try to make some amends.”

He knew her so well, even now, and he heard the tears in her voice, the genuine remorse, the changes.  She didn’t speak anymore like a girl who’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar again, but like a woman, who’d known so much loss, by her own hand, and one who’d truly, finally, owned and had to face the consequences of her choices. 

And with her words, he felt something inside him, at last, break free, and he turned to her.

 

XIII

They were like two teenagers, parked at the lookout, hands roaming frantically.  It had taken them exactly five minutes from the moment he had tentatively put his hand on her knee,  to the look of understanding that passed between them, and the way he’d found out that her car accelerated just as much as he’d thought it would.  And now, here they were, in a place they could be alone.

He’d never thought she’d say those words, that she would ever realize how much she’d hurt him.  It pierced the defenses he’d worked so long to build. 

She was ready for him, more ready than he would have imagined.  She straddled him almost before he’d turned the car off, mouth on his, kissing him deeply.  “I want to know you,” she whispered in his ear, and he ached at the possibility of all that could mean.

She unzipped him, then reached under her skirt and discarded the flimsy scrap of her panties in one fluid motion.  “Maxie,”  he groaned, and then, quickly, she was guiding him inside her.  And it was so good, exquisite. Like they had been 20 years ago, moving together, but so much better, because they were older now. And knew so much more.

He reached down between them and stroked the hard nub of her gently, the way she always had wanted, and her response was immediate.  She’d been so wet already, but now she enveloped him, and he found himself lifting his hips off the car seat, plunging into her, feeling her heat.

“Please...” she sighed against his mouth as they moved together.

And with that word, he remembered, again, what she liked most, and he slid his other hand underneath her shirt, opening her bra with one fluid motion, teasing and pinching her nipples, feeling them swell under his fingers.   She was so open to him—so responsive—he was so close---

“Spinelli.  Wait.”

He slowed immediately, took a ragged breath.  “What’s the matter, are you okay?”  He pulled back. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No.  Oh no, please.”  She hesitated, then took him deeper, moving against him, looking into his eyes.  “I just…I want to make this good for you, too.   What can I do for you?”

He returned her look, holding her gaze.  “My Maximista,”  he said softly, sliding his hands over her hips and pulling her tighter against him.  “Just this.” He reached up and cupped her face gently between his palms.  “Kiss me again.”

And she did, tenderly, achingly, with all the sadness and joy and pent up longing from their 20 years apart.

Then, fiercely, they came. Together.

XIV

He waited, then. For her to jump up, to rearrange her clothes, to apologize and kiss him quickly and thank him and then insist they had to get on their way. To detach after showing him her vulnerability. For the push after the pull.  To be proven a fool again.  Back to their old dynamics.

Instead, she laid in the crook of his arm, in that tiny space, eyes closed, breathing deeply.  Her face was peaceful, serene, dare he say…happy?

He didn’t want to end the moment, but he had to know how she was feeling.  Had this been a big mistake?  He thought of all they’d been through, how he’d been at this point so often before, and how every time he’d been disappointed, wishing it was more than she’d ever let it be.  Self-recrimination at his lack of impulse control with her.  “Not again,” he willed himself.   “Different river.  Remember her apology. No more heartbreak.  Just be ok with now.  With this.”  

“Maximista,”  he whispered.  She opened her eyes.

“Spinelli.”  Her voice was dreamy, soft.  “Thank you.”

“For…?”  He tangled his fingers in her hair, stroking her cheek.

“Coming home. Being here. With me, like this.  After everything.”

No words.  He reached for her hand and closed his eyes.  Home.

 

XV

That was the beginning of a surreal, profoundly real, week.  Work intruded, of course—being two people at the top of their careers came with lots of phone calls from assistants.  But they spent long days together. Wedding prep with Georgie, of course, but then a whirl of going to the movies, morning coffee together on the patio, visiting with friends and their extended family.   And time alone together, talking, remembering their history, telling each other about those lost 20 years.

They wandered through the reception site, confirming the layout of the catering, looking at the gardens.  He watched her as she recounted a story of a recent trip to New York to meet with an up and coming blues group for a photo shoot for the magazine.  He and Ellie had always shared intellectual curiosity, and Maxie had always joked about her lack of it.  Mostly, he realized now, because she’d felt insecure. Now that she’d moved up the career ladder, she talked about ease and confidence about art, travel, music, politics. The time she’d spent in New York and the extensive traveling she’d done for work had changed her. They talked about Paris, their favorite gelato in Milan, their adventures wandering London. He told her how nervous he’d been when he’d made the decision to open his own company, but how taking those risks had given him confidence and mended some deep insecurities.  She told him about her own doubts, working under editors who saw her as the ditzy blond, until one day, after for the fiftieth time, an idea she pitched got co-opted and promoted as her boss’s, she’d resolved to go to college at night, get the credentials under her, then pitch herself in New York.  And she’d done it—been more successful than she’d ever dreamed.  But the cost of change was that not everyone was comfortable with the new Maxie, including Nathan.  Couple that with her at the time fragile and life-sized ego, and consider it a recipe for divorce.  She shrugged.  “When he first told me, I was furious, but it was the best thing he could have done, for both of us.”  At the same time, competing in the sandbox with aggressive New Yorkers was making her realize that she was going to have to work harder than she ever had to succeed, and put her own drama and issues to the side if she wanted to be successful.  “Talk about growing up fast,” she laughed ruefully.  And he marveled as she talked—seeing how she had evolved.  Wishing he had known.

“I told you, I wanted to call you.” She said.  “So many times. But my pride would get in the way, or Georgie would come home and tell me about some adventure the three of you had been on, and I thought I couldn’t do try to open that door again. I couldn’t be selfish and come crawling back to you yet again, putting myself first and trying to throw a wrench in your happiness.”  She paused.  “So, I didn’t.”

He smiled. “I suppose there’s no irony in the fact that you found yourself the person I’d always knew you were as soon as we were apart…”

“We were textbook codependency, Spinelli.”  She laughed.  “I think it’s how it had to happen. So I could realize I didn’t need you.   And…”   At this, she grabbed his hand, pulling him into an alcove, winding herself around him.  “So I could realize how much I do.”

 

XVI

He couldn’t get enough of all of it.

That first night, he’d been asleep when he suddenly felt her nakedness pressed against his back, her arms sliding around his chest, her hands sliding lower.  He was instantly hard for her, still sore from their earlier time in the car, but ready for her again, still disbelieving this could actually be happening.  She knelt above him, and he spread her open, teasing her slowly with his mouth, feeling his own desire build as she rocked against his tongue.  She took him inside her as she came, and he wanted to cry out at the way she rippled around him.  He exploded, still so filled with desire, satiated yet greedy. 

And every night, after the house had gone to bed, it continued.  She would slip quietly into his room, and silent, complicit in their secret, they would make love for hours.  She would fall asleep in his arms, and then slip back out again before dawn.

He remembered that time, when he’d faced her, after she’d kissed Johnny, asking her if she could ever see him like that, as a man so worthy of her desire. He knew know that she’d lied, afraid of committing herself to him, one man, so soon.  On some level, he’d known she had anyway—even though part of him then acknowledged that what she craved wasn’t something different in bed, just someone more dangerous—he hadn’t had enough confidence in himself to believe he could be enough.  And now that he did, he saw she’d given up that need for reckless drama, and it moved him.

He had never felt more sure of himself, more confused, more alive.  In all his past daydreams about a life together, his noble plans of courtly love with her, hadn’t envisioned a future like this—two people with mortgages and grey-threaded hair and complicated lives.  His love for her had always been naïve and set apart, valiant, in a bubble.  And now, years later, she wasn’t the prize to be won, an unattainable star. She was present, immediate, real, complicated and funny.  No divided loyalties, no angst and drama. He’d watch her tease Georgie or put on her reading glasses or call to check on Felicia, and he felt grounded.  Centered.  Like this was the reality he’d been wanting, his whole life.   He was falling in love with her all over again, or maybe for the first time.  And he thought, just maybe, she was with him, too.

 

XVII

The wedding was beautiful.  It seemed like all of Port Charles had turned out to wish Georgie and Will well.   He felt his heart surge as he walked Georgie down the aisle, into the arms of her husband. Felt it again when the reverend asked “Who gives this woman to be married?” and Maxie grabbed his hand as he said “Her mother and I do.” Watched the newlyweds run through the shower of rose petals as everyone cheered for them. 

And then sat at the reception, champagne glass in hand, as Maxie stood to give a toast. “Georgie and Will,”  she said, “I would be wrong to tell you this road will be easy.  You’re young, and still have so much to learn.  But you’ve made this promise, to each other, and when things are hard, hold on tight.  Sometimes,” and here, she paused, and looked at him, “I’ve forgotten that.  But know, that when true love is there, you’ll find your way back.  Be good to each other.”  She raised her glass. “To Georgie and Will.”

“To Georgie and Will!”

She found him, then. The dancing had started, and he’d slipped away for a minute of solitude. Lost in his thoughts, reflecting on Georgie, and Maxie, and the time they’d spent together.  He felt her behind him and turned to see her, down on one knee.

“Maxie…”

“Marry me, Spinelli.  This time for real. I love you. We’ve missed out on so much because of my bad choices, and I don’t want to spend another day without you. This week has meant everything to me, and  I want to live the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me.  And if you don’t know how sincere I am, kneeling in the dirt wearing a thousand dollar dress, then I don’t know how else I can convince you. I know you'll need time to trust me. But I’ll wait as long as it takes to prove to you that I’ve changed.”  She smiled, but he saw in her eyes that now the tables had turned.  She was there, and vulnerable, and he knew he held her heart in his hands, and what a responsibility that was.

So many things he probably should say.  Tell her it was too soon. Remind her of their past.  How they’d never been able to make it work, how he’d always felt he was on the verge of losing her. How the logistics would be impossible to navigate, their distance in so many ways too great.

But this day was about nothing if not hope, and new beginnings. And if he was a fool for opening himself up again, let him regret that outcome, but not that he’d tried as hard as he could with the one woman who had always held his heart in her hands.

He pulled her to her feet, and into his arms.  “We'll get there.”   And he believed it.  He held her tightly, amazed as always by the power their love had, after all of it, to heal each other, and to forgive. “I love you, so very, very much.”

He led her by the hand back to the reception. For a moment, he registered the smiles of their friends and family, who saw the looks on their faces and that they were tightly holding hands. And he saw Georgie, dancing, watching them over Will’s shoulder, giving them a knowing look that was wise beyond her years.  “Stay here for just one second?” he whispered in Maxie’s ear, and then headed to the leader of the band, leaning in to make his request with a smile and a folded bill.

And then he was back, oblivious to anyone in the room but her, swinging her around and bringing her close to him.

 “Dance with me.” 

Surrounded by his arms, she looked up at him as the familiar song began to play. And then, before she kissed him, long and hard, in front of all those witnesses, she winked, and smiled, and whispered, “What took you so long?”

 

 

 


End file.
